


Eagle

by spikesgirl58



Series: ABBA/Foothills [86]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just a typical day in the Foothills and yet Illya has the feeling that he's forgotten something very important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eagle

When his feet hit the floor, Illya Kuryakin knew it was going to be a good day. Years of field work followed by a career as a chef had done a number on his feet **.** _ _Plantar fasciitis__ made it feel as if he was walking on glass some days. After resisting for too long, he’d finally gone to a podiatrist and gotten supports for his shoes.

Standing without the stabbing pain made Illya almost giddy with happiness. Quietly, he grabbed his watch and clothes and headed out of the bedroom he shared with his partner and lover, Napoleon Solo.

Illya paused in the hallway to pull on a pair of ratty jogging shorts and an equally ratty tee shirt. Both cried out for the mercy of the rag pile, but Illya refused to let them go. Napoleon had tried more than once, but somehow Illya always managed a daring, last-minute rescue.

Suddenly Moutard and Buerre Noir were there, rubbed and meowing. First he stopped at the bathroom to take care of his morning ablutions. Both cats accompanied him, lest he grow unaware of their plight.

“Shh,” Illya whispered as he hurried down the stairs. The cat preceded him, tails and expectations high. Instantly they headed for the kitchen and Illya grinned. Such was his life.

He paused to pick up the morning paper from the porch and relished the cool morning air. It would be hot today, but for the moment, the breeze against his face was refreshingly brisk. He glanced over at Taste, not surprised to see Jesus’s car already parked in front of it. There was a tap to his leg and Illya looked down at the small brown tabby

“What’s wrong, Buerre? Hungry this morning?”

She chirped and took an encouraging step towards the kitchen, then looked back at him. Smiling, Illya followed her into the kitchen. Moutard was sitting by two empty plates and a half-filled bowl of dry food. His expression was one of hopeful concern as he watched Illya enter.

“Yes, Moutard, I will feed you both.” He went to the pantry and grabbed a can of cat food. As he began to open it, his ankles were treated to cat rubs and licks. “That isn’t going to make me go faster, you know.”

He set two plates of wet food down and then added a few pieces of dry food to the bowl. He replaced the water and stepped back. Both cats completely ignored him now that their demands were met.

Satisfied that all was well in their world. Illya smiled, cleaned up his mess, washed his hands, and walked over to the coffee machine. He measured grounds into the basket, then added a pinch of salt and another of cinnamon.

As the coffee brewed, he quickly mixed up biscuit dough. He’d made these so many times, they were as easy as breathing to him. Still, Napoleon enjoyed them and that made the biscuits special. Illya placed a small ramekin with a chunk of butter on the stove top, then slipped a large, parchment-lined sheet pan of biscuits into the oven. That accomplished, he checked the time on his watch. He had just twelve minutes for his errand.

Pouring coffee into a travel mug, he capped it and carried it over to Taste.

Jesus’s head bobbed up as Illya entered. They played this scene out most mornings

“Mi héroe,” he murmured as he took the cup and sipped. His happy sigh made Illya grin.

“We do have coffee machines here.” Illya indicated one with the wave of his hand.

“What can I say? I prefer yours.”

“Napoleon says that as well.” Illya glanced over at a tray. “What is our special tonight?”

“Crepes filled with caramelized pears. Tableside, we caramelize the pears, then wrap and plate two. The perfect romantic dessert.” He gestured to his left. “And Apricot Charlotte and the soufflé of the day is raspberry. All local fruits.”

Illya smiled. “Elegant and yet simple. It sounds perfect. I will look forward to trying one tonight.” He glance at his watch. “I will be back later. Now I have to rescue my biscuits.”

 _“_ _ _Adios__ _,"_ Jesus murmured, taking another sip of his coffee.

Illya returned to his own kitchen with a minute to spare. As he opened the side door, both cats raced out.   Apparently, the litter box was in disfavor today.

He checked the oven and pulled the biscuits. He brushed some melted butter on the biscuits and set them aside to cool.

He was chopping an onion when two arms slid around his waist and a comfortably familiar set of lips found the back on Illya’s neck and kissed it.

“Good morning.”

“It is now.” Illya permitted himself to relax back in the embrace, his knife safely set aside. “Did you sleep well?”

“After that night cap you gave me? I would be a fiend to have done otherwise.” Napoleon rested his chin on Illya’s shoulder. “What’s for breakfast?”

“You sound like the cats,” Illya grumbled, returning to his chopping. “They only keep me around for my cooking abilities.”

“Oh, I like to think you’re good for other things as well.”

“Forget that and it’s game over. Would you set the table for me?”

“It’s still cool. Outside?”

“Please. Just two settings. I’ll plate here.”

Illya watched as Napoleon gather up the utensils and placemats. There was something about today, but Illya couldn’t put his finger on it.

He added the chopped onion to the sausage he had been cooking, rinsed off his hands and went to the main calendar. This month’s photo was of a calm harbor, the boat anchored peacefully at the dock. It was in direct contrast to the mess below.

Illya frequently joked that the only reason he knew the date was because it was posted on the Specials board as their guests entered.

“Is today the fifteenth?” he asked as Napoleon re-entered.

“No, I think the seventeenth. I had a delivery from Spenkler’s on the fifteenth.”

“I thought that was the fourteenth.” Illya checked his watch again, but the Magic Watch-Fix-it /fairy hadn’t visited him overnight and repaired the calendar function.

“What does it matter?” Napoleon got down two bowls. “Anything need to be used first?”

“No, not really. There’s just… something.” He pointed to a bowl. “I’d check the mango, but it might be too late to save it. Otherwise, there are cherries and grapes in the refrigerator.”

He stirred the sausage and onions. Napoleon was whistling as he chopped fruit. When the man had arrived, he didn’t know one end of a kitchen from the other, now he worked comfortably in theirs. Illya remembered those first few months, of getting to know each other again and rebuilding the trust they’d one had.

“Anything else I can do?” Napoleon’s voice startled Illya from his memories. “Are you okay?”

“I am fine.” Illya reached for a stick of butter. “Daydreaming was the only way I got through the risotto chapter in class.”

“Oh, was I there?”

“In the risotto chapter? No, I’m sure I’d have taken notice of that.”

“In your daydreams, _Amante_.” Napoleon dipped in for a kiss.

“Always. Now let me finish breakfast.”

Napoleon was reading the paper as Illya exited from the kitchen carrying two plates of sausage gravy covered biscuits. Always attentive during breakfast, Napoleon immediately set the paper aside and went back into the house for more coffee.

As they ate, they made small talk and Illya couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Just the opposite in fact. I was sitting here thinking that we sounds like an old married couple.”

“Well, we’re old, married, at least to our way of thinking, and a couple, so I guess that fits.” Napoleon reached out to place his hand over Illya’s. “That okay with you?”

Illya nodded. “Very okay?”

“You thinking about a rematch?”

“After last night? I have to work today and that’s means there needs to be enough of me left to be able to walk.”

“The magic is gone.” Napoleon sighed, but Illya could see the twinkle in his eye.

Illya leaned forward and brought Napoleon’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “The magic is right here.”

Napoleon stood and pulled Illya forward, kissing him over the narrow picnic table. As the patio was surrounded by a tall ivy covered fence, there was no risk of being seen.

_“Hai bisogno di una stanza?”_

Except by possible friends and coworkers, or in Matt’s case, both. Napoleon and Illya parted, both with a smile.   “No, I have a room, Matthew. Thank you.” Illya said, as he straightened. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No, my _cara_ , he has… um… _insonnia_?”

“Insomnia?”

“Yes, how silly that I can’t remember that word. He did not sleep well last night. Or me.”

“Then wouldn’t you need coffee?”

“I have had many cups just to be here.” It was true that there was a sense of exhaustion around the redhead. Even his hair looked tired.

Illya handed the empty plates to Napoleon with an apologetic look. “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your schedule today and take the day off?”

There was a hopeful look that was almost instantly gone. “We have so many covers tonight.”

“Then come back at five and help me cook. As Napoleon is frequently telling me, you aren’t married to the restaurant. I’ll be right behind you.”

Matt pursed his lips and gestured, “Like that?”

Illya looked down at his tattered shirt and equally distressed jog shorts. “Good point. I’ll be right back.” Behind him he heard Matt say,

“You let him dress like that?”

“It’s not that I haven’t tried. It’s like reasoning with a...”

Illya didn’t hear waht Napoleon was comparing him to, but it was probably just as well.

Illya was coming out of the kitchen door and could just hear Napoleon’s soft comment, “He doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Who doesn’t?” Illya asked. He had swapped the clothes for a clean white tee shirt, a pair of work pants and was carrying his chef’s coat.

Both men were startled and Illya was satisfifed that he still had his stealth.

“ _Cara_ , you scared me,” Matt complained, his face flush.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to interupt top-level negotiations. Who doesn’t suspect anything?”

“Jesus. I spoke with our realtor. The building he wants is available and I have started the paperwork for it.”

“Afer all that he did for Taste, that’s only right.” Napoleon added quickly.

“That’s true, but I’d hate to lose him.” Illya slapped Matt on the shoulder. “Ready to go?”

“Si. But, C _ara_ if the pastry shop was part of us? We could, maybe, share?”

“That is a great idea. What if we...” Illya talked as he walked, his thoughts already racing ahead. He never saw the wink that Matt and Napoleon shared.

QQQQ

Illya straightened up from his crouch by the firebox and wiped the sweat from his face with a damp cloth. Smoking meat was one of his least favorite tasks. Doing it for one or two portions was easy. Doing it for a hundred and the fun flew right out the window. Why he thought to do smoked meat in the middle of the summer was his own foolishness.

Of course, it wasn’t his fault that thieves had stolen their last batch of meat. Illya didn’t know where it ended up, but he hoped the perpetrators got their due. Before that, they would have just let the smoker do its thing, but Illya wasn’t about to lose another pricey shipment of venison to the bastards. So, now, the smoker was always watched.

The day was every bit as hot as he’d suspected it would be. The wind was now dry and sharp, having lost its coolness by noon. In short, it was just a typical hot summer day in the Foothills. He wondered if he would have even bothered to look at Taste the first time if they’d been here in July as opposed to October.

“Hey.”

Napoleon was approaching and carried a tray. “The kitchen sent this out to you.”

Surprised, Illya looked at his watch and groaned. “How can it already be two? I have to be in the kitchen in an hour.”

“What else needs to be done here?” Napoleon set the tray down on the picnic table. Even with the shade structure, it was blisteringly hot. He offered Illya a bottle of water, which Illya immediately attacked.

He drank deeply. “I have another hour before I can pull the meat.”

Napoleon gestured to the tray. “So sit and eat, then go and change.”

“But...” For a split second, Illya wished for a simpler time when he didn’t have to worry about thieves.

“I’ll babysit the smoker for when you do.” Napoleon’s smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

The question took Illya by surprise, but it shouldn’t have. Napoleon always could read him like a book. “I was thinking that when we first came to Jackson, I wouldn’t have had to worry about watching the smoker. It was a nice quiet town then and just for a moment, I wished we were back there, but if we were, you wouldn’t be here.” He took off his gloves and reached out to stroke Napoleon’s cheek. It was bristly with whiskers. “I wouldn’t have that for anything.” Illya chanced a fast kiss then touched foreheadd with him.

“Really?”

“Really.” Illya sat down and peeked under the tray cover. “What do we have here?” He lifted the sandwich to study it.

“Um, turkey, sprouts, cream cheese and cranberry sauce. It’s my own creation. Try it. I think you will like it.” Napoleon sat beside him, away from the smoker.

“If you made it, I’m sure I will.” Illya bit into it, automatically taking the flavors apart in his mind, savouring and critiquing them. A good chef just didn’t cook. A good chef loved food, all aspects of it. As he chewed, he considered texture, sweetness, moisture, as well as flavor. Then he slowly realized that Napoleon was talking.

“I’m sorry. What?”

Napoleon laughed. “I was asking if you liked it? I had something like it down in Sacramento last week.”

“It’s good and very complex, although it doesn’t seem as though it should be.”

“A little like me, then?”

At that moment, Illya couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else, doing anything else with anyone else. “Very much like you. Although...” He looked back at the tray.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Trying to figure out why you didn’t bring two.”

“I had lunch an hour... that’s not what you meant, is it?”

“That’s what I like about you, Solo. Nothing gets past you.”

Napoleon ran his fingers up Illya’s arm. “Not anymore.” He squeezed Illya’s forearm. “I’ll be right back.”

QQQQ

Illya walked through the front door of the little house he shared with Napoleon and sighed weairly. When he and Matt first bought the restaurant and its nearby house, Illya had wondered why the house was so small. Within a month, he knew the answer.   His whole world was Taste. It was the first thing on his mind when he woke and the last thing he thought about when he fell asleep at night, at least it had been until, by some miracle, Napoleon found him.

At that moment, Illya paused. There was something wrong... something very wrong. It smelled different and not ‘Napoleon getting a wild hair up his ass and cleaning’ different.   Where were the cats? They always greeted him a the door.

Illya locked the front door behind him and walked slowly past the living room and the small alcove Napoleon lovingly referred to as the dining room to the kitchen.

For the first time in years, Illya wished he had a gun. Something was making the hair on the back of his neck bristle. There was something going on and he didn’t have a clue, but it couldn’t be good.

He slowly and carefully pushed open the kitched door and stopped.

It was just as he’d left it, but through the porch door, he could see... candlelight? What was going on?

He walked through the kitchen and out onto the porch. A small table was elegantly set with candles, crystal and china. Napoleon, wearing a robe, was stretched out on a lounge chair. He had a towel over his eyes and his hands behind his head.

“Napoleon?”

“I supposed have some explaining to do.”

“Yes. Otherwise I will consider this a scene of torture and start to break things.”

“Do you know what today is?”

“You mean, was as of ten minutes ago?”

“No, I mean, today.” Napoleon sat up and studied him as Illya stripped off his chef’s coat.

“Other than Thursday, no idea.” Illya sank into a nearby chair and eased his feet out of his shoes

“Five years ago was the day I walked through the doors of Taste for the first time.”

“That makes sense.” He rotated his ankles first one way and then the other.

“What does?”

“I’ve been thinking about that all day and couldn’t understand why. Subconsciously, I must have remembered.”

“I wanted you to know I didn’t forget.” Napoleon stood and walked to him. “I was so afraid you’d send me away.”

“I wanted to.” Illya smiled sadly. “I’d worked so hard for everything I had here. I didn’t want to lose it.”

“Yet, you took a chance on me.”

“You are my Achilles heel, Napoleon. You always have been.”

“Anyhow, I wanted to do something to mark the day.” He gestured to the table. “Matt has been busy all day preparing you a feast.”

“As long as there’s no smoked venison, I’ll be happy.” At Napoleon’s crestfallen look, Illya continued. “Or not.”

“Not, I should think.” Napoleon grinned and winked. “Got you.”

“Indeed, you have.” Illya looked around and then frowned. “What is that?”

“That is the other reason why Matt needed the day off. I needed to keep you busy and distracted.”

“I thought there was an abnormal amount of items on his ‘to do’ list.”

Napoleon took a few steps and slapped something. “This is your fifth anniversay gift.”

“For that I thank you, but what is it?”

“A hot tub.”

“A what?” Illya stood and walked to his side. Napoleon pushed a button and lights came out. “It’s a bathtub?”

“They are all the rage.”   Napoleon encircled Illya’s shoulders and gestured across the sky. “Think about it. After a long day, you can come out here with a glass of wine and just soak and relax.”

“But we have a bathtub.”

“Not like this.” Napoleon leaned down and punched a button. The water erupted as jets began to churn the water. “Plus, it’s big enough for two.”

“It’s big enough for four.”

“And that time will come, but for now...” Napoleon shut the jets and the water off. “Come and have dinner. Then we will strip and soak and...”

“And what?” Illya asked, suspicious.

“How long have you known me? We...”

Illya kissed him thoroughly at that point, not stopping until he’d had his fill. “How long have you known me?”

Napoleon reached for Illya’s tee shirt, the food forgotten. “Not long enough. Never long enough”

Naked, they rediscovered each other beneath the stars. And the stars didn’t mind one bit.

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
